Snippet #2639724

Iaira had slumped back against the headstand, her body bent to the side. The show she had put up for Weyellin before had visibly drained her and for now she was just pleased to have a quiet moment before she had to face those stiff, uptight, false-duty driven men of his. Her throat felt parched and a look around the room had informed her of the various glass magna placed upon different tables and stands. A particular flash perched upon the firemantle had caught her attention. The warmth of the flames lighting the colour of its contents, like liquid fire.
The door opened and a figure stepped in, the footsteps barely audible. Iaira tensed once more. For all his talk of honour, Weyellin had used every means at his disposal to interrogate her and she had no doubt he'd reach any extent to get what he wanted. As the figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light cast by the fireplace, Iaira saw a small-framed woman, the expression in her eyes one of empty obedience. Another duty-driven puppet. Where's the fun in those?
'I've been sent to escort you.' The woman's voice was apathetic; The assassin wondered whether she'd even bleed, if she pricked her white skin with a needle.
'Could I interest you in something of a more sensual nature, firstly? I mean, I am conveniently naked and immobilised and I'd like to try everything once.'
She ignored her generous offer and brought herself closer to the bed with measured steps. A surprising strength filled her hands when she pushed Iaira's head to the side, ignoring her grunt of displeasure as she fumbled with her binds. Her arms were gently lowered to her sides, needles puncturing through them, no doubt an effect of the blood rushing back into them. It wasn't hard to note that her wrists remained restrained for the time being.
The woman pulled her clumsily, standing her on her feet. Her eyes made a point of not lingering a second on her nakedness. Quickly, she took hold of her renewed garments and did most of the dressing up herself- almost causing Iaira to stumble twice. Briefly, her hands were untied, only long enough for her to slide her arms through the sleeves of her tunic and then her thin, boiled-leather vest. Her silence frustrated the assassin.
'Follow me.' The same lifeless-fish tone. Hood's balls, is that what married women sound like?
The temperature was roughly the same outside of the room; it must have been around sunset, for the last shafts of light entered through the window slits in the walls. The girl had attached a small chain-like line to her bound wrists, the end of which rested in her palm as she led Iaira through the halls. They passed different rooms, most with high arched doors barred-shut. Through some there was sound to be heard, quiet and repetitive; in others there were guttural screams and in the rest, simplistic silence.
However, the girl made a halt before a very different section of the fortress. That much was evident. The darkness inside was absolute and when they stepped inside through the high doorframe shaped like dragon's jaws, her foosteps seemed to echo to the highly-hanging ceiling. In the walls, the rock had been carved sporadically to reveal a crimson-fiery light, but as much as Iaira sought for a light-source, a candle, a brazier or anything similar, she was disappointed. There were many levels to it, stone corridors seemingly overlapping one another in every direction. Rock held no warmth of any sort and judging by the lack of light, it should have been freezing cold, making her teeth rattle. On the contrary, the vastness of the area was filled with heat, supposedly emerging from below and somewhere further ahead.